


que sera sera

by carnyvale



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Hyuuga Neji Lives, Post-Fourth Shinobi War, because fuck you that's why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:09:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24131866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carnyvale/pseuds/carnyvale
Summary: The war ends. The world moves on, and so does Neji.
Relationships: Hyuuga Neji/Yamanaka Ino
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	que sera sera

**Author's Note:**

> an old favourite fic from ff.net. :) slowly transferring the few pieces i love because i feel like coming back to my animanga roots.

.

The war ends.

The war ends and the world ceases to exist in shades of red. There are too many losses to count, bodies beyond repair mourned by families and strangers alike. Villages reduced to ash and soot and unspoken _goodbyes._ Warriors with grotesque trophies in the form of their mangled limbs, minds torn asunder by a grief so heavy, they walk with their heads bowed. They are heroes with a victory carved out of flesh and bones and sacrifices. The world is a graveyard but it tilts on its axis; it moves on blithely.

It moves on.

**.**

Neji dreams of his father, his mother and the ghost of their smiles. He dreams of sparrows surging against a late autumn sky, intimate and terrifying, and he covers his ears to stifle their deafening cry until they are gone beyond orange-tinted clouds. He walks through woods and worn paths that lead to nowhere. Unending and he always starts at the beginning. It takes him a while, what feels like years upon years of walking but when he opens his eyes, he knows he's alive. His heart beats strong and sure.

He is alive but he sees nothing.

It's the kind of dark so complete, so foreign that he grapples with fear for a second.

"Hyuuga-san, please calm down. You're safe now."

Neji stills at the assurance in a stranger's voice and breathes slowly, slowly. "Where am I?" he asks. It comes out a dry whisper, sandpaper scraping over his raw throat. Something wet and cool touches his lips and he drinks until he feels more human.

The voice is kind when it says, "Konoha."

.

The hospital echoes quiet and solemn and once he is left alone, Neji spends hours trying to understand. He remembers excruciating pain, blood welling from the back of his throat and Naruto's stricken face. He had said his goodbye. He had accepted death, only to be rejected by it in turn and he should be thankful. There are those who are not as fortunate. Neji closes and opens his eyes, sinks a little deeper in the liquid dark and the realisation that _he cannot see_. He tries to activate the Byakugan several times, but his chakra doesn't channel like it used to and he ends up with the dull pain of a headache.

He touches his smooth forehead absently.

" _Neji!_ "

Neji jerks and turns his face towards the voice, recognises it even in the all-encompassing black. Tenten isn't prone to theatrical outbursts. He's surprised but he holds her as she clutches at him, tears seeping through the thin material of his hospital gown. She sobs and hiccups and her words are a frantic murmur of, "I'm so, so glad!"

He winces at the volume of Gai-sensei and Lee's combined tearful declaration of The Enduring Springtime of Youth, accepts their crushing embraces and smiles even when his bones creak in warning.

It's good to be alive.

.

There is nothing they can do for his eyesight.

"You were technically dead for a few minutes and the seal reacted to that," Sakura says, sounds far wearier than what little he remembers about Naruto's teammate. He wonders who she has lost as Tenten's fingers tighten around his forearm, the steady pressure of blunt nails a poor consolation. "I'm sorry, Neji."

He shakes his head and says, "I'm sorry too."

If Sakura understands what he apologises for, she says nothing.

.

He learns that Naruto is now Hokage. He learns that it doesn't matter if he cannot see; funerals are coloured in the darkest hues and Naruto's voice echoes with anguish and hope so tangible, he can hear the tears that are shed around him. The Hyuuga Clan doesn't survive the war unscathed. He tries to conjure up faces to match the names spoken out in quiet eulogies, remembers them being alive and well and eager to set forth under the grand designs of a peaceful future. To be able to tell their grandchildren about the greatest war that has ever been fought.

They will be part of the story told instead, immortalised on a slab of stone.

Neji stands next to Hanabi and for the first time in their lives, her smaller hand is clasped tightly in his.

.

The world, as it always does, moves on.

.

"She's beautiful, niisan."

He's terrified when Hinata gently places the baby into his arms. He cradles her close to his chest, hesitant and anxious and utterly amazed by the enormity of something so, so tiny. She is a fleshy curl of warmth, soft skin and fuzzy hair, and smells like lavender powder. Neji runs his fingertips over her cheek, her stomach and her stubby fingers close around his hair.

When she tugs and he obliges with a surprised grunt, the ladies around him laugh in a delighted little circle.

He memorises every contour of her face, her smell, the faint trace of her chakra.

Hinata calls her ' _Kushina_ '. He has to wonder if Kushina's hair is the customary dark of the Hyuuga's or Naruto's striking yellow. If she is made in her mother's mould or would soon follow the boisterous path of her father's.

Neji taps the tip of her nose and she gurgles, so full of life.

**.**

"Do you want to see her?"

He bristles at the question, recognises Yamanaka Ino's voice from its distinct lilt, the underlying promise of barbwires he has come to associate with her. His self-control is absolute, iron-clad. It stops his fingers from curling into fists. "I do not appreciate your attempt at humour, Yamanaka."

She laughs. "You don't appreciate any attempt at humour, _Hyuuga_."

Her footsteps are a quiet whisper over the Hyuuga mansion's wooden panelling and Neji stiffens when he senses her standing in front of him. He hears indistinct chatters from the main hallway, the susurrus of appreciative coos over Hinata's newborn and there is a gentle pressure over his forehead, where the seal used to be.

His skin prickles with unease.

"What are you doing?"

"Hush."

**.**

The picture unravels like a flower opening its petals. A languid spill of velvet and blurred edges, colours seeping into the space behind his closed eyelids. Neji is aware of the near-imperceptible undercurrent of a foreign chakra twining around his own, pulsating in tandem. It should have been uncomfortable but isn't. Not really.

" _She's beautiful, niisan_."

Hinata's voice echoes inside his head and the picture flickers for a second, refocuses. He realises with a start that he's seeing himself, a view from the other side of the room. His head is bent over the swath of cotton around the baby in his arms, large hands dwarfing her tiny ones. Kushina is indeed beautiful – light-haired and pale-eyed. Not as small as he first thought but still as fragile, and his chest tightens when she reaches out towards him. He manages to stop himself from angling his body to yield to the phantom touch.

He knows enough of the Yamanaka Clan's prowess to conclude that the picture is a mental projection of an image seen through Ino's eyes.

What surprises him the most is how he looks in it.

Older, it's a given. Immaculate dark hair pulled into a low ponytail against pristine white robe. There are scars on his hands, across the side of his neck bared by the starched collar. He remembers them well, had traced his fingers over each and every one in the privacy of his room. They serve as a reminder that he survives where others have fallen. That his time is yet to come. Seeing those scars makes something settles inside his stomach, a weight not unlike the realisation of a reality. He's expected a certain harshness in his features, courtesy of the war and the ache he carries in his heart, but he's made of less austere lines than he remembers.

Gentler.

The press of fingertips against his forehead disappears and the picture fades, like colours dispersing through ripples of water.

**.**

"How did you do it?"

"You know better than to ask about clan secrets," she says. He can hear amusement in her voice and that makes him uncomfortable. He doesn't understand someone like Yamanaka Ino. Not back then, not now. Their lives are made of parallel lines that are never meant to converge. "But maybe in time, you'll figure it out."

It sounds like an invitation.

"Don't you think so?"

Neji digs nails into his palms. He doesn't disagree.

.

They meet at intervals. Usually in a teahouse at the outskirt of town, with its inexhaustible blends of tea and the sweet pastries that she prefers. Or the café across the hospital when Ino's shifts blur together, and she arrives in a flourish of disinfectant and stories about Academy students' unfortunate accidents. He still finds it peculiar, this arrangement of theirs. How she places her palm across his forehead, paints him another world where he is a ghost treading in the footsteps of the living. He only ever sees what she saw, what she _allows_ him to see – the rebuilding of Konoha, children playing tag across the streets, the new Hokage Tower, Akamaru's over-enthusiastic puppies, an endless procession of flowers. Tulips. Carnations. Roses. Chrysanthemums. Orchids. Numerous birthday parties. The tragic aftermath of Naruto's first attempt in assigning a genin team to Rock Lee.

The view of a sunset cresting over Konoha, golden and triumphant.

He glimpses the cenotaph only once. A block of imposing grey silhouetted against the morning sun. There are too many carved names etched into the stone, muted colours of drying bouquets, and the image lasts for mere seconds before it ripples away. Ino doesn't say anything afterwards.

He thinks about telling her that he _understands_ , but doesn't quite know how.

.

Hinata sits next to him at the end of his daily meditation, carving out a space that radiates calm and serenity. Her silence is measured, patient. She waits for a few seconds and says, "Ino-san is good for you."

He understands the meaning behind her words. It's hard not to, when he thinks of Ino in between the spaces of their meetings. Dreams of fingertips that reach beyond the flimsy trapping of his skin and into the very core of his being, but he isn't quite sure what he's supposed to do with the knowledge. She expresses no interest other than what they have agreed upon and he struggles to find a foothold when faced with her mercurial nature. He is in her debt and yet, it feels as if he is the one doing her a favour.

As if she views him as an attempt at repentance. To quiet the ghosts inside her own heart.

Nothing more, nothing less.

For the first time in years, uncertainty breaches the steel of his armour and he finds himself ill-equipped to deal with it.

"She is… different," he confesses, slowly. The night stills around them and it's easier to admit a weakness when the world holds its breath. He folds his hands on his lap, fingers half-curled into fists. A poor imitation to safeguard a heart he'd already lost. "I wish—"

His hands arch outward, a helpless gesture he can't quite stop.

He wonders if Hinata will laugh at him.

There's a hand pressed against his forearm. Reassuring. "It's okay, niisan."

.

"These are irises." Ino leads him by hand, dainty fingers curving his around silken petals. The flower shop smells like soil and sunshine, and he recognises her personal cologne. "They remind me of you."

"Why?"

" _That_ —" the smile in her voice tugs at his own lips and he moves closer, angles himself so he can catch a sliver of her warmth. "—you have to find out yourself."

**.**

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Sakura's tone is mild, slightly clinical as she prods at a spot just above his left kidney. He's grateful that the question is a mere formality instead of actual concern, and tolerates another minute of her manhandling. "Yes."

There's a slight pause before she says, "You don't have to."

Neji thinks about the call of a battlefield, of wind carding through his hair and how it feels to be useful again. A sword and a shield, instead of a mere ornament. Her nails catch on the raised seam of a scar and he fights to not flinch. "It will do me good."

"Right." She doesn't sound convinced. A second, and then, "I heard you're seeing Ino."

He stiffens. He knows Sakura notices, because her hands retract and the silence grows palpable. _It's none of your business_ , he wants to say. Pride, a touch of anger, makes him straighten into a razor-sharp line. His nails bite into the underside of the examination table. He says instead, "We have an arrangement."

"Oh?"

The questions are there. Unspoken. Heavy as lead.

_What arrangement? What are you doing with her? Why is she wasting her time with you?_

_Why Ino?_

As if he has the answers.

.

_Faith. Wisdom. Hope. Valour._

Neji nods absently as Tenten reads from the horticulture book he'd found in the library, endures her curiosity without revealing the reason behind his sudden interest in irises. He carves the words into his marrows so he can recite them back to Ino, counting down the seconds until he would see her again.

He has finally found light at the end of the tunnel, when it's been too dark for too much, too long.

.

It takes Neji a while to adjust, relearning the tricks of the trade. Reading chakra trails and trusting his other senses enough to grid-line pictures inside his head. Maps. Positions. He's a cartographer with a canvas set in black, but the darkness that resides behind his eyes isn't as overwhelming as it once was. He eases into active duty with the stumbling grace of a fawn, too thankful for second chances to complain. He carries his rank with the kind of self-deprecation that would've made Ino laugh.

"How long do we have before it starts raining?"

Genma's voice comes from his left, slightly lisped through the perpetual senbon in his mouth. Neji steadies his perch on the branch and tilts his face forward, tasting the wind. There's an undercurrent of overlapping conversations, the rest of their five-man cell. Three chuunin, one jounin and then there's Genma. The leader of their pack, who alternates between quiet authority and dry wit with enviable ease. He is only around to make the transition easier for Neji, a glorified babysitter for what should have been a run-of-the-mill patrol assignment.

It doesn't wound Neji's pride as much as it would have been years ago.

"Half a day," he says, takes an extra second to calculate the hours. "Maybe less, if the wind picks up."

Genma grunts in return. Neji likes that about him – the brevity, in word and motion. Nothing unnecessary. Or wasted. The rest of their trek is uneventful and he can feel tension bleeds out of the pack with each step closer. Peace comes with a hefty price tag, one they are still paying even after all these years. They slow as they reach the outskirt of Konoha and Genma calls out to the sentry, confirmation of their identities. The ensuing whistle catches his attention and Neji blinks at the sudden weight on his shoulder. An arm. Genma's, considering the cool slide of his senbon against Neji's cheek.

"Funny seein' you here, Ino-chan."

Neji tenses, struggles to appear unaffected as he realises that Ino is there. There's a flare of familiar chakra, a courtesy she's made a habit around him, and he returns it. Unconsciously, if the low, knowing laugh from Genma is any indication. He would've blushed if he is not in broad daylight, right in front of the gates of their village.

"Not here for you, Shiranui-san, although I suppose I should congratulate you on a job well done." A scoff and the weight on Neji's shoulder shifts for a second, before it disappears. Genma graces him with a pat on the back and the sound of his retreating footsteps is replaced by Ino's voice saying, "Welcome home, Neji."

He doesn't stop the smile on his lips, once the surprise wears off. It's nearly the end of spring in Konoha and he can smell it on her, lingering like a jealous lover.

_Home_.

"I’m back, Ino."

.

**end**

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